


The Seduction of One Draco Malfoy by a Green Velvet Chair

by Vukovich



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Sensual Play, Sensuality, Soft Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vukovich/pseuds/Vukovich
Summary: What Draco Malfoy does at home alone is his own business.  And he's a rather fine businessman.If you'd like a soundtrack, this was written to Debussy's "Passepied" on harp.YouTube.Companion piece:Harry Potter and the Glass Block Shower
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	The Seduction of One Draco Malfoy by a Green Velvet Chair

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [Fwooshy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwooshy/pseuds/fwooshy) for beta-reading!

The front door thumped shut, and Draco paused, the scrape of his dresser drawer suddenly conspicuous in the emptiness. Quietly, fingertips bearing the drawer’s weight, he eased it open. It wouldn’t do to thunder about and ruin the evening’s quiet. Rather difficult to come by, solitude. He supposed it was the price of companionship. Crackling embers in the bedroom fireplace punctuated the silence, keeping a full hush at bay. 

Neat rolls in a cacophony of colour greeted him in the open drawer: solid pastel boxers, garish patterned polyester pants given as joke gifts, a smattering of boxer-briefs in jewel tones. All rather haphazard, but easily navigated, but not what he was looking for. Solitude deserved something special.

His fingers left the drawer and drifted to his waist, untucking the soft towel to shimmy it up past his back to his shoulders. Goosebumps ran up his arms, but quelled under the growing warmth of the towel around his torso. Droplets of water trailed from his hair, their downward venture curtailed by the terrycloth.

The drawer’s hidden contents beckoned, and his touch returned to the skim over the fabrics. Past the buttery worn cotton, over slick satin to whisper-soft silk. _Aha!_

Carefully, he grasped the insubstantial fabric in the back of the drawer and tugged, slowly feeling for any catches or hesitation. It slid freely over the underwhelming underthings, unfurling over them as if to hide the shame of their inadequacy. 

A soft hum of appreciation filled the air as he unfolded the robe, holding it up and shaking it with a quick snap. His hip leaned into the drawer, sliding it shut. He sighed, drawing in the subtle scent of cedar and rolling it on the back of his tongue. Too long in the drawer, if it had picked up such a strong scent.

How long had it been? Months, at least. The damp towel tumbled to the floor, inelegant in the presence of such finery. He raised the robe over his back, letting it sort itself over his hands. With a bare skimming over the fine hairs on his arms, the sleeves of the robe covered him with little to no movement on his part.

Black as ink, the silk shone in the golden glow of firelight. Pale fingers wove the narrow belt in a loose loop, stark against the darkness below them. Creases in the fabric caught the amber light, tethering it to him in softly gleaming vermillion lines and folds.

His fingers traced the caught light as if a mere garment could be so impossibly greedy as to swallow luminescence itself. A light touch lingered at the belt, drifting downward over the gentle curve of his sex below the fabric. His breath shuddered in as his fingers cupped the warm flesh, despite the chill of them through the silk. A temperamental kind of warmth, easily whisked away by the slightest movement or even one’s own touch.

From the fireplace, a sharp hiss and pop disturbed the silence, and an annoyed smirk traced his lips as he padded over the warm wood floor to the new chair. _The_ chair. Ambiguous in origin but rich in everything else.

It was a decadent feast, this chair. Wide, rounded shoulders sheathed in perfectly-wrapped padding, with each little fold of upholstery neatly tucked and precisely measured. The edges of the backrest swept forward and curled under, like arms holding a curtsied skirt. They shot in suddenly to a finely-tapered joining with the seat. Like a breath held, held, stuttered, and released in one great gust, ending in a delicate sigh.

He rounded the side, trailing fingers down along the low armrest. It curved and held itself away from the dainty round cushion of the seat. Where the backrest suggested a certain breaking tension, the arms simply waited, barely above the level of the tufted disc in the center. Two perfectly-aligned, eternally patient curved, padded arms, like a steward unobtrusively offering to hold whatever he may ask of it.

His thumb traced the armrest appreciatively as he sat, smiling softly at the dark lines his touch left on emerald green velvet. The lines his fingers traced along the matte velvet truly ate the light, where the black silk of his robe caught it and held it for all to see.

With a sweep of his fingertips, he tucked the silk under him as he sat on the firm cushion, but reconsidered immediately. The feel of the robe was known. Exciting, and much anticipated, but far from novel. The thick, stiff velvet of the chair, however…. new.

Self-satisfied smile already blooming, he raised himself and slid the robe out from under him, lowering slowly down onto the unyielding upholstery. His teeth found his bottom lip as the deliciously dense velvet rubbed against the soft skin of his thighs, followed by his buttocks and a pleased sigh. 

Where the silk had floated over his bare skin, the velvet gripped with eager traction. Anticipation got the better of him, and he shrugged the robe from his shoulders, letting it pool around him as he leaned his back into the demanding friction of the deep green velvet. Almost harsh, the pulling grasp of it, not budging as he gently shimmied his shoulders against it. His skin tugged in jerks, clinging to the velvet as much as to his body.

A shiver shook him as a draft flitted through the room, calling attention to his exposed groin. The fire in front of him warmed his shins nicely, but did little for the rest of him. His fingers abandoned their idle exploration of the armrests to station themselves on his knees, warming quickly.

His mind drifted as his hands warmed. Not anywhere in particular. Not even out of the chair, really. His head rolled back and forth gently against the backrest and stopped to rub a cheek against the heavy velvet. A whiff of something sweet from the velvet caught his interest, and he drew in a long breath, letting it out in a deep sigh, and took several small snuffling sniffs. _Pipe tobacco._ An interesting scent, he thought. Probably from the chair’s former life in a man’s study. He let his lips drop to his exposed shoulder. Another breath mixed the aromas of fragrant tobacco, woodsmoke, and clean skin, and his lips nipped at his shoulder, drawing the skin up.

A warm thumb wiped his own kiss from his shoulder, rubbing slowly down his chest. Idly, he wondered if everyone found as immense a pleasure in their own skin as he did. It would be rather sad _not_ to relish one’s self, really. How terribly lonely to be alone in one’s own body.

Not Draco Malfoy, he mused, skimming warm, soft fingertips up his thighs. How convenient it was to be able to get lost in his own body. His touch tickled up the fine hairs along his inner thighs, destination evident, as his cock swelled in anticipation.

How truly advantageous to find his own arousal… well, rather arousing. Much like enjoying the sound of one’s own music, or chef cooking for himself, he thought. No less indulgent for being _self_ -indulgent.

His hips slid forward in offering to himself as his knees spread, and the delicate skin of his bollocks tugged against the heavy velvet. He wiggled against the pull, studying the sensation, and deemed it rather nice. An unexpected amount of participation from a chair, but much appreciated.

Long, pale fingers danced a slow, soft upward graze along his hardening shaft as his other hand traced its way to a nipple, thumbing the pebbling skin lightly. His touch stayed delicate as he considered his options. This could be a short detour from the rest of his plans. Done and over within mere moments. Or it could consume his evening.

His thumbnail slid over his nipple, drawing a sharp inhale through his nose, and a twitch from his now-hard cock. Perhaps the itinerary wasn’t entirely up to him.

He gasped as strong fingers wrapped around his length with a hard squeeze. _Gods, it was good. How could it always feel so good?_ His hips tightened, urging him up into his own firm grasp.

An eager whimper fell from his parted lips as his fist moved, tugging soft skin over hard flesh. A hitch caught his breath as his stroking hand paused, thumb sliding in a slow circle over the sensitive head of his cock.

His other hand left his nipple to rest over his upper abdomen and its gradually-flushing skin. Cool fingers rubbed up the center of his chest, chasing the scarlet blush to his collarbones and up his neck to erupt over his cheeks. Always a dead giveaway, he mused, that hard, fast flush. And a valid reason for tightly buttoned-up shirts.

Not to be outdone, his other hand gripped his shaft tightly between thumb and forefinger, sliding up its length to milk clear droplets to the tip. Heavy tightness built in the nebulous area between his cock and spine. Just a promising weight, letting him decide whether to chase it into a tightly-wound coil, or to let it sink silently away.

The chase, he decided. Always the chase. Lips between his teeth, and eyes closed, he let his drifting hand settle in his groin, cupping himself and drawing downward, even as his body pulled the skin taut.

A tight, needy whine hummed from his chest in time with his quickening pace. A short chase, then, he thought, as the tension in his hips built, urging him to move in time with his hands.

His heartbeat throbbed in his cock as his fist’s motion narrowed to the end of his shaft, nudging up against the head's raw sensitivity. It was warm and heavy in his hand, slick with clear fluid, hot on the trail of its own release.

Gliding up from his groin, his free hand settled over his mouth, ready to stifle the sounds of his own pleasure. Whorls of fingertips teased his lips, a bare distraction to the gathering weight behind his cock. Eager whimpers were muffled behind his fingers, and the pressure grew to a fierce, scalding knot in his hips.

His breath hitched in as he held it there for a moment, knowing it would break. The tension shattered and pulsed forward as he remembered he was _alone_. Ripping his hand away from his mouth, he wrapped it around the base of his cock and groaned, low and needy as the first wave surged through him. His cock throbbed in his grasp, thick hot lines arcing out to land on his skin.

His voice echoed back to him, his own moans a tribute to himself as his hands pulled the last bolts of pleasure through him and slowed, settling into a tentative light stroke. His heartbeat followed suit, the flushed skin of his chest cooling as he settled. A thumb grazed tentatively over the tip of his cock, and his breath shuddered out in a relaxed sigh.

“ _Fuck._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> This was an experimental outline.  
> Let me know what you thought.  
> I'm not above writing more.  
> [My Tumblr](https://vukovich.tumblr.com/)


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